Page 136 of Hate Mates

Lorenzo nods stiffly. “Up her security?” he questions.

“Yes, and Sofia’s while you’re at it. I also want two of our men to become Vittoria’s guards.”

His jaw tenses and I know he’s fighting the urge to argue, but instead he gives a small nod and turns on his heel, ready to do what I need.

Christ, I have a feeling that things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.

THREE

Vittoria

As I follow the stern-faced wedding planner through the Mariano mansion, I can't help but feel a sense of despair. Just days ago, I was in Belfast, dreaming of a life beyond my father's control. Now, I'm choosing floral arrangements and cake favors for a wedding I never wanted, to a man who’s colder than my own father—something I hadn’t expected.

"We'll start with the dress fittings," the planner, Mrs. Rossi, says briskly. "Mr. Mariano has arranged for several top designers to bring their collections. We'll find something suitable."

I nod mechanically; my mind overwhelmed. It’s too much all at once. I'm grateful, at least, that my mother was allowed to come for this part. As we enter a large room that's been converted into a temporary bridal salon, I see her sitting on a plush couch, her face tight with worry.

"Mam," I breathe, rushing to embrace her. She holds me tightly, and for a moment I allow myself to be a scared little girl again, seeking comfort in my mother's arms.

"Oh, my darling," she whispers, her Irish lilt thick with emotion. "Are you alright?"

Before I can answer, Mrs. Rossi clears her throat. "We should begin," she says, gesturing to the racks of white gowns. "We have a lot to get through."

My mother's grip on my hand tightens briefly before she lets go. "Of course," she says, her voice steady despite the pain in her eyes. "Let's see these dresses then."

The morning is filled with so much lace and tulle. Dress after dress is presented, each more elaborate than the last. I try them on and parade before my mother and Mrs. Rossi like a doll on display.

"You look beautiful, Vittoria," my mam says, dabbing a tissue at her eyes the moment I step out of the makeshift changing room wearing dress number forty-two of the day.

I take a deep breath and turn to the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. The dress is stunning, hugging my curves, it’s flattering, beautiful, and intricate. The dress is sleek but elegant with diamonds around the waist. Not too many, but enough to make sure it stands out. I should be happy that I’ve found the perfect dress. But all I see is a cage of white fabric, binding me to a future I never chose.

"It's perfect," Mrs. Rossi declares. "Mr. Mariano will be pleased."

At the mention of Cesare's name, I feel a chill run down my spine. Our conversation from this morning replays in my mind. His words were both a threat and a challenge, and I'm still not sure how to navigate any of this. Especially him. He’s so cold and distant, there’s no way that being married to him will bring me happiness. I’m destined to be one of those brides that are stuck in a loveless, hate-filled marriage.

"Vittoria?" my mother's voice breaks through my thoughts. "What do you think, love?"

I force a smile, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "It's beautiful, Mam. I think this is the one."

As Mrs. Rossi bustles off to make arrangements for alterations, my mother comes to stand beside me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "Are you sure about this, Vittoria?" my mam whispers, her voice low enough that only I can hear. "It's not too late to back out. We could leave; go somewhere they'd never find us."

For a moment, I let myself imagine it—running away with my mother, starting a new life far from the reach of my father and the Marianos. But reality crashes back quickly.

"You know we can't, Mam," I say softly, squeezing her hand. "They'd never stop looking for us. And even if we managed to disappear, what about Father and the boys? We can't leave them to face the consequences."

My mother's face falls, the brief hope in her eyes extinguished. "I know," she sighs. "I just hate seeing you being sacrificed like this."

Before I can respond, Mrs. Rossi returns with a seamstress in tow. "We'll need to take in the waist slightly," she says, all business. "And perhaps lower the neckline a touch?"

I nod numbly as the seamstress begins pinning and adjusting the dress. My mother steps back, watching with a pained expression. I hate that she’s feeling this as much as I am, but she’s not going to be able to do anything about it, just as I’m not. The situation is irreversible and in less than three weeks, I’m going to be married.

As my motherand I prepare to leave, Cesare appears in the doorway. His presence immediately fills the room, commanding attention.

"Ah, Vittoria," he says, his eyes raking over me appraisingly. "I trust everything is proceeding smoothly?"

"Yes, Cesare," I reply, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "We've made good progress today."

He nods, seemingly satisfied. Then his eyes land on my mother, and his expression shifts to one of cool politeness. "Mrs. Costa, I hope you've found everything to your satisfaction?"

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